The Hand-made in the Holidays
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Hank's first grade class gets ready for their winter holidays.


The Hand-made in the Holidays

Mrs. Hanson clapped her hands to focus the attention of her wiggly first graders. She knew from experience that the farther into December the year progressed, the more distracted her little charges would become. While not all of her students celebrated Christmas or Hanukkah, the excitement of those who did increased throughout the month and pervaded the classroom.

Over her thirty year teaching career, she had adjusted her lesson plans to reflect the increasing diversity of her pupils. Beginning after Thanksgiving, they studied various celebrations, festivals, and holidays observed around the world, and she assisted the children in preparing a gift for their families. Both classroom activities were timed for completion by the time the kids left school for their Winter Holiday.

She let them choose among several art projects which she varied from time to time. This year they were making bread dough objects; an orb-shaped ornament, a miniature wreath, a small candle holder, a little bowl, an animal figure. Bread dough 'clay' is inexpensive to make and easy for little hands to mold. The choices are only limited by the child's imagination, and while she suggested various ideas, Mrs. Hanson assured her group of budding sculptors that they could make anything they wished. She loved seeing how their personalities influenced the results.

Experiential learning is well-suited for young children and their artsy project covered all the bases of prescribed learner outcomes and teaching objectives. Measuring ingredients, observing the results of mixing substances, describing the dough's texture; each activity involved science, math, and language. The hands-on nature of experimentation kept her students involved and interested all month long. The cafeteria staff loved it when her class came trooping down to the school kitchen to bake their projects, and always had milk and cookies waiting for the children.

"Boys and girls, we have three more days of school before your winter break. Today we need to wrap your gifts. Measure 18 inches of ribbon and cut a piece that length. Choose a color of tissue paper, and take four sheets back to your desks. Spread out two flat, crumple one to cushion your gift like a bird's nest, and wrap the third around it like a scarf. Then pull the corners of the flat sheets up around it like the hobo's kerchief in yesterday's story. Tie the top shut with your ribbon. Be sure to support your package underneath when you carry it so it doesn't drop and break."

On December 22nd, Parker came to pick up his younger siblings from school. He had scheduled a two week break in his jazz band touring to visit the family. His musical career was a temporary indulgence before he started pharmacy school. Leaning over to open the passenger door for Christine, he noticed the broad grin on his little brother's face. "You look really excited, kiddo. Bet you're ready for Christmas break. What's been goin' on while I was gone?"

Clambering into the back seat, Hank looked like he would burst from holding in his secret any longer. "I gotta gift for Mommy and Daddy! I FINALLY get to give it to them at dinner tonight!"

Christine chuckled in response. "He has Mrs. Hanson this year. She always tells her kids to present their family gift at dinner the first night of school break. When I was in first grade, we made wreaths from plastic bag strips tied to a coat hanger circle. Whad'ja make this year, Hank?"

"A ornumet!" Hank announced proudly. "It's a sheep! And a flat one that's a star. Like a cookie. I wrote my name on it before we bake-ted it. "

"So you made two ornaments, huh?" Parker asked seriously. Then his face broke into a smile. "I made Dad a glass ornament with my name on it in glitter when I was your age. I can't believe it's lasted all these years and never got broken. Dad always acted like it belonged in Fort Knox. I guess that's just how parents are."

"What's Fort Knox?" Hank wanted to know.

"Parker means that Dad really treasured his ornament," Christine commented wisely.

As the family sat down to Brennan's macaroni and cheese, Booth glanced at his younger son. "Hank, what's gotten into you? Sit still or you'll fall off your chair. You're so wiggly I think you've got ants in your pants!"

"Daddy, I can't wait any longer!" Hank burst out.

"Mom, can Hank give you guys his gift before we eat? I think dinner will be a lot calmer if he does," Parker observed.

Brennan smiled indulgently, knowing what was coming. "Hank, go get your back pack."

The little boy jumped out of his chair and dashed down the hall to his room, returning with two lopsided packages tied with crooked bows. "Here, Mommy! I made you somethin'! It's for Daddy, too." He handed a parcel to each of his parents.

With great ceremony, Booth and Brennan unwrapped their gifts. "Hank, they are beautiful! They will look perfect on the Christmas tree. Can we set them in the middle of the table until after we eat, then hang them up?" Brennan asked.

"Son, you wrote your name on the star very well. And you wrote "HB 2017" on the sheep's tummy. What's that mean?" Booth inquired with a smile.

"That's me, Daddy! HB—Hank Booth! 'Cause I made them. And it's this year. 2017." Hank informed him seriously.

"Well, I think this is the best present I've gotten in a long time, don't you, Bones? The best since Christine made her clay candle-holder."

"Booth, it wasn't clay, it's bread dough, just like Hank's," Brennan corrected him.

"Yeah, honey, I knew that."

"Daddy, what about Parker's ornumet? It's special too," Hank reminded his father.

"All your gifts are special to us. Because you each made them yourselves. C'mere, sport! You deserve a big hug!"

Hank scrambled into his father's lap and grinned proudly from ear to ear, as his mother kissed his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy! Merry Christmas, Mommy!"

"Merry Christmas to you, Hank!" his family said in unison. "Now can we eat before the macaroni and cheese gets cold?"


End file.
